


On the Mend

by Tyloric



Series: Caretaker [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: But Mrs. Hudson isn't gonna take his shit, Caretaking, Clint is being petty, Crack, Humor, Illness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyloric/pseuds/Tyloric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint can't be trusted to take care of himself when he's sick.</p><p>But don't worry guys; Mrs. Hudson's got this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the fact that I too am home with a cold.

At her knock, the door swung open, revealing Phil looking as impeccable as always in his usual three piece suit. He smiles at her politely and moves to let her in.  
  
“Lora, thank you for coming.”  
  
“It’s no trouble, Philip.”  
  
There's was a snort from the couch on the other side of the living area. It's facing the other direction so Mrs. Hudson can't actually see Clint lying on it.  
  
“Clinton, how are you feeling today?” Mrs. Hudson asks sweetly.  
  
An arm appears from the couch, waving lightly. “I’m fine, Mrs. Hudson. Phil, I don’t _need_ a babysitter.” His voice is scratchy or hoarse.   
  
Phil sighs, the corners of his lips turning up slightly. He walks over to where Clint is lying and leans over until he is face-to-face with the man, albeit upside down. “You really do,” he says patiently, kissing the top of Clint’s head. Mrs. Hudson follows Phil in and sets her bag down on the coffee table.  
  
Clint sniffs, his nose red, his eyes puffy, and frowns. “It’s just a cold.” He hugs the hoodie he's wearing closer around himself. “Plus,” he continues, “Mrs. Hudson is old. What if she gets sick? She could _die_.”   
  
Mrs. Hudson grabbs a thin magazine from the table, rolls it up, and walks over to Clint and knocks it against his cheek. Clint yelps, his limbs flailing about.   
  
“I expect you to have manners, Clinton Francis Barton,” she snaps.  
  
Clint tries to mimic the glare Natasha used when she was angry. “I’m not a kid, Mrs. Hudson.”  
  
She pops him again. “Then stop acting like one,” she says at the same time Clint wails, “ _Ow! Stop it!_ ”  
  
Phil, to his credit, is not laughing, though it's a close thing. He turns to Mrs. Hudson. “If you could just please make sure he takes care of himself. I’m only gone for a few hours, just have to catch up on some paperwork. Clint just has a nasty habit of totally ignoring any and all sound medical advice.”  
  
“Do not,” Clint retorts out of reflex more than anything.  
  
Phil raises an eyebrow. “Last night you were trying to convince me that Vodka was the cure-all for all ailments.”  
  
“That’s what they taught us in the circus!”  
  
“And is precisely why I’ve asked Mrs. Hudson to watch over you.” Phil pats Clint on the shoulder fondly. “I’ll be back soon.”  
  
“I hate you,” Clint mumbles.  
  
“Liar,” Phil says and walks towards the door. “Just call if he gives you any trouble, Lora.”  
  
“Everything will be fine, Philip.”  
  
He nods and waves his thanks before leaving. “I love you, Clint,” Phil called.  
  
“Go away!” Phil is laughing as he shuts the door.  
  
With Phil gone, Clint meet Mrs. Hudson’s gaze. They both stare at each other for a moment before Clint sticks his tongue out at her petulantly. She hits him with the magazine again and he curses.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint has lots of feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter is a TENSE NIGHTMARE. I'll get around to cleaning it up eventually. Until then...
> 
> READY? DIVE, DIVE, DIVE!

Shortly after Phil had left Clint passed out and didn’t wake up until about noon.  
  
And that was only because Tony Stark came barreling into the apartment like a bat outta hell, with a backpack slung over one shoulder. Mrs. Hudson, who had been reading a book at the kitchen table, calmly set her book on the table, grabbed the still-rolled-up magazine, and started towards the front door.  
  
Tony closed the door behind him and turned around, speaking loudly. “Clint, my man! I-” There was a loud thwap as the magazine made contact right across Tony’s face. He stood there dazed. Not because it hurt necessarily, but because, seriously, what the hell? Who does that?  
  
Mrs. Hudson pressed a finger to her lips, trying to silence him.  
  
“Lady, who the-” Another pop, this time across the nose, which, ow, actually did hurt a bit.  
  
“ _Would you stop_ -!” Thwap.   
  
She put finger back to her lips, her face stony.  
  
“Tony...” Clint said groggily from the couch, sitting up. “Stop being mean to Mrs. Hudson.”  
  
Tony took one look at Clint, with his puffy face, raggedy grey hoodie, and hair sticking up in all directions, and barked a laugh. “You look like hell.”  
  
Clint sniffed in confirmation. “I feel like it.”  
  
Tony grins and then looks at Mrs. Hudson out of the corner of his eye. He raises his hands in mock surrender and begins to scoot around her dramatically. Mrs. Hudson tracked him like a bird of prey the whole way, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed slightly. Tony couldn’t help but gulp.  
  
“So,” he starts as he makes his way over to Clint. “Who’s that? Hawk Senior?”  
  
Mrs. Hudson huffed and started back towards the kitchen table. She sat and opened her book, pointedly not looking at Tony.  
  
Clint regards her for a moment before looking back at Tony. “That’s Mrs. Hudson. She’s my... nurse,” he decides.  
  
Tony snorts, plopping down in an armchair. “Nurse?”  
  
Clint groans lightly, sinking back down on the couch. “Phil doesn’t trust me to be alone.”  
  
At that, Tony laughs loudly, though it’s not mockingly. “I know that feeling. Pepper has JARVIS give her a full play-by-play of my day when I’m sick. She says that my normal ‘self-destructive habits’ are unacceptable.”  
  
Clint smiles weakly, amused but tired. “So what can I do for you?” he asks. “I’m not really capable of or wanting to be a very good host right now.”  
  
Tony raises and eyebrow. “You kicking me out already?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You wound me.”  
  
“You’ll get over it.”  
  
“Point.” Tony concedes, pulling the backpack he had been carrying into his lap. He unzipped it, pulling out what looked like a large piece of framed glass. “I just came by to drop off this,” He said, handing it to Clint.  
  
Clint took it. At his touch, the glass went dark, displaying a sort of login screen. He looked back at Tony questioningly.   
  
Tony was grinning. “The new StarkPad.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I figured you could use some cheering up.”  
  
Clint face did something strange, like he was struggling to smile and scowl at the same time and couldn’t decide which to go with. A moment later he met Tony’s gaze. “Thanks Tony,” he said cheerily. “I appreciate it.”  
  
Tony tilted his head to the side, one eyebrow raised. He was looking at Clint like he was trying to solve a particularly difficult equation.   
  
“You okay?”  
  
Clint set the tablet on the coffee table. “Just tired,” he said weakly.  
  
Tony’s lips pressed into a firm line, but then he shrugged, apparently unconcerned. “Alright. I’ll catch you later, Hawk.”   
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Grabbing his backpack, Tony started towards the door. He could feel Creepy-old-lady’s eyes burning holes in his very expensive leather jacket. When he finally reached the door he angled his head to look at Mrs. Hudson over his shoulder. She glared at him, and he glared back. After a few moments of this, Tony hissed like a cat and bolted.  
  
Mrs. Hudson glared after him before looking back over to Clint. His face was totally blank, his eyes not focused on anything, as if he were somewhere else entire. She cleared her throat and Clint blinked, coming back to reality.  
  
“Are you hungry, Clinton?”  
  
Clint started to move. “I can take care of it.”  
  
“I’ll make some chicken soup,” Mrs. Hudson said, standing.  
  
“ _I said I’ll take care it!_ ” Clint half-shouted, his face twisted with anger. She froze and regarded him warily. Clint shrank back into the couch looking stricken, as if just realizing what he’d said. “Sorry,” he muttered.  
  
Mrs. Hudson heated some Cambell’s (because she had it under good authority that it was Clint’s favorite) and set it in front of him. He nodded his thanks, not meeting her eyes. She smiled and went back to the kitchen table and picked up her book.   
  
After a few minutes of silence Mrs. Hudson asked, “Do you not like others helping you, Clinton?”  
  
His shoulders tensed and his fists curled into balls, saying nothing.  
  
“It’s weird,” he says after a few minutes. Mrs. Hudson closes her book again calmly, turning to give Clint her full attention. She motioned for him to continued.  
  
“It’s just... it’s alway been me. For forever. I was all I had.” He hesitated. “No one could be trusted...” Clint trailed off.  
  
“And then?” Mrs. Hudson prompted.  
  
Clint’s lips twitched. “And then Phil happened. He was hurt bad, you know, when those aliens invaded New York... we all thought he was dead.” He swallowed against the lump in his throat before continuing. “When I found out he was still alive, I didn’t leave his side. When he woke up, do you know what the first thing he said to me was?”   
  
She shook her head.  
  
“‘Would you like to go to dinner with me?’” Clint laughs. “Who does that? I mean, how can I say no? I didn’t mean to fall for him, it just... happened. And now he’s always there, always being so... caring.” He gives Mrs. Hudson a guilty look. “And don’t get me wrong, I like it. It’s awesome. I’ve never had anyone who cares about me like Phil does. But then the team started caring, and now you’re caring, and it’s all just really freaking me out.” He coughs, and lies back down on the couch. “It’s stupid.”  
  
“Not stupid. Just new,” Mrs. Hudson says gently. “If Phil was hurt, would you do everything to help him? If one of your friends was?”  
  
“Yeah, I would.”  
  
“So the next time you start to get... freaked out, just remember how you would feel if one of them were hurt.”  
  
Clint didn’t reply for a while, and when he did he broke into fits of laughter. “It’s so simple when you put it like that. How do you do that?”  
  
“As you said; I’m old,” she deadpans.  
  
Clint just laughs harder.  
  
-  
  
Mrs. Hudson is stepping out into the hall when Phil returns.  
  
“Hello, Philip,” she says. “Everything go alright?”  
  
He gives her one his famous half smiles. “No surprises today. A rare amenity. How’s he doing?”  
  
“He’s been asleep for a while. Mr. Stark stopped by earlier.”  
  
Phil raises an eyebrow. “How did that go?”  
  
Mrs. Hudson huffs. “The man is like a tornado.” At that, Phil laughs.  
  
“He really is.”  
  
“But he’s alright, I suppose. He means well.” She turns to leave. “Good afternoon, Philip.”  
  
“Thank you for your help, Mrs. Hudson,” Phil says with a small wave.  
  
Phil walks inside and shrugs off his jacket, hanging it on the back of one of the kitchen table chairs. Clint is snoring lightly from the couch, totally oblivious to the world.  
  
“Phil?” Clint asks groggily, eyes still closed when Phil starts to move towards the bedroom.  
  
He walks back over to Clint. “How do you feel?”  
  
Clint ignores him. “I need to tell you something,” he slurs, already falling back asleep.  
  
“What’s that?” Phil asks, rubbing the side of Clint’s cheek with his thumb.  
  
Clint sighs, leaning into the touch. “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> That got way more serious than I thought it would.


End file.
